Dawn had barely broken in the little courtyard in Tanlong Alley, and dew from the night before still clung to the old locust tree.
Qin Geng did not hurry to wash up. Bare-chested and wearing only loose training trousers, he stood in the middle of the main room.
On the wall directly opposite him hung the Tiger Descending the Mountain Painting he had exchanged for at the Heaven-Character Vault last night.
The painting had no lavish, glittering mounting. Its paper had yellowed to an aged brown, and even its corners were worn. Yet one glance at it seemed to lower the room's temperature by several degrees.
The tiger in the painting was not baring its claws and fangs, poised to devour someone.
It was walking.
One could even say it was walking rather lazily.
Its shoulder blades hung loose, its head dipped slightly, and its eyelids drooped halfway shut. Its fur did not bristle, but lay smoothly against its body.
It looked like a great cat that had just woken and had yet to find its energy, even exuding a sickly air of decline.
"A sick tiger."
Qin Geng stared at the painting, rolling those words around in his mouth.
Daoist Chi Song had said that the painting concealed the principle of sheathing one's edge. At first, Qin Geng had thought this was merely obscure Daoist rhetoric, but after studying it all night, he saw something different in it this morning.
He was an expert in Xingyi boxing, and had already trained every bone in his body to the realm of "Tiger Bone."
Precisely because he understood, the sight made his heart pound with alarm.
The tiger in the painting looked sickly, but in truth, it was "relaxing."
Every bone and great tendon in its body was in a state